


seven steps to falling in love

by EJ (girlwitham4carbine)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Depression, M/M, Self-Harm, but these apply to the entire fic, i'll put specific warnings on each chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6490915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlwitham4carbine/pseuds/EJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joel’s smile was so bright, perfect teeth in full display and eyes crinkling around the edges. Matt went back to his room, pink on his face and hoodie feeling a bit too warm despite the broken A/C.</p><p>(He didn’t know Joel was involved with drugs until he saw him dealing out of his room, his door wide open as if he enjoyed the tease of trouble, the constant paranoia that anyone could be watching.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. step 1. (curiosity. or maybe its just heartburn.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter - depression, drugs

> **step 1. you don’t quite remember how it feels to feel but there’s an echo in your chest that you think might be _curiosity. or maybe its just heartburn._**

Matt came back to school in the spring feeling almost akin to a fresh breath; the potential energy before you begin moving, like a match poised against a striker. It was a new semester, ripe with a new set of classes and opportunities for him and his friends to get into their own special brand of trouble. He hadn’t been this excited since his high school graduation.

Fall had been a blur; the last solid memory he had was from sometime around the end of October, its edges burnt and fuzzy like they’re trying to cling to the corners of his mind. He was sipping from a beer bottle on a stranger’s balcony, the liquid already lukewarm and stale. Voices trickled through the cracked open door, undulating in volume every few minutes. His memory slipped away just like the alcohol slipping down his throat, burning. He somehow made it through the rest of the semester, only coming back to himself sometime during winter break as if he had woken up for the first time in years.

A few of his friends have asked him how he could have just forgotten months on end, sad and upset when he struggled to recall birthdays or the most normal of nights between them. He would shrug, describing it as the only thing that seemed even remotely close to how he had been feeling; dissociation, defined as “the state of being dissociated; disjunction; separation”. It felt as if he was outside of himself, floating high above the world while his body somehow kept moving without him. Some memories and emotions managed to break through the haze, but there were still large gaps and missing pieces like a puzzle left on a card table to collect dust. It was scary, to know what was happening to him and around him yet have no way to stop it. Sometimes Matt almost welcomed the numbness, the rare times he would feel stable and present again were possibly worse than the dissociating. He wondered if his mind would float so high into the sky that he might never come back down.

He was diagnosed with clinical depression, started medication and therapy. He was thankful. This meant getting better, slowly being able to piece his puzzle back together again.

And it was nice, figuratively starting over again. The medicine was  _ helping _ , aside from the first few weeks of sleepless nights and dizziness. Therapy provided something solid that his friends couldn’t. What wasn’t nice was having to start actual homework again. Writing papers was still a pain in the ass, group projects an unspoken evil. Matt was glad to see his friends, trying to hang out with them consistently despite their heavier workloads as juniors with part-time jobs. He almost regretted his weird schedule, his Mondays and Wednesdays packed to the brim with lectures while his Tuesdays and Thursdays were for decent shifts in the campus bookstore. He was struggling to get enough sleep, but was managing for the moment with quick cat naps and playing catch-up on the weekends.  

He had just finished with his last class of the day, grabbing a quick snack from the dining hall before heading back to his apartment. It was a relaxing ten-minute walk, plenty of time for him to go back over the day and figure out what homework to start on after making dinner. The sun had just gone behind the buildings, making the sky a beautiful mix of oranges and purples. Matt was just about to take a picture when a flash of curls caught his eye, bumping into him and startling him out of his peace and quiet.

Matt knew Joel Rubin; they had been floormates their freshman year, doing the occasional activity put together by the RA. They never interacted much further than that, maybe a head nod when they passed each other on the way to class every few days. But he knew Joel was  _ magnetic _ . People of all social groups would come by his room, door always open and inviting anyone walking by to see what the man was up to. Matt almost considered going in when he saw people surrounding his computer, yelling over some kind of racing game. Joel’s smile was so bright, perfect teeth in full display and eyes crinkling around the edges. Matt went back to his room, pink on his face and hoodie feeling a bit too warm despite the broken A/C.

(He didn’t know Joel was involved with drugs until he saw him dealing out of his room, his door wide open as if he enjoyed the tease of trouble, the constant paranoia that anyone could be watching. Matt saw deals far too often that year. He was thankful it was never anything more serious than weed.)

So when he saw those familiar hazel-green eyes staring down at him, wide with surprise but still full of curiosity, Matt struggled to force the color out of his cheeks.

“Oh, sorry about that. Uh, Matt right?”

“Yeah. Joel Rubin?'

“The one and only. This is gonna sound weird, but do you happen to have a cigarette on you?”

They smoked on the curb by Matt’s apartment (Joel actually lived a stone’s throw away, separated by the main road of their complex), passing the cigarette back and forth between the two of them. Matt liked to keep a pack of Marlboros on him for situations like these. He hardly smokes, but the pack feels like a weighted comfort in his pocket. They spent about an hour playing catch up, telling story after story about their freshman year: one of Joel’s friends had thrown a rock at his window and broken it, and he managed to blame it on a stray bird in a rainstorm. The worst Matt had to say was when he was half asleep, he’d put a Tide Pod in the detergent slot of the dorm washing machine. 

The past two years had treated Joel well. The young man had already been attractive, drawing people to him with his enthusiasm and wide smile alone. He was tall and lithe, always in a dress shirt that hugged his arms and torso in all the right places. And he had confidence and a sharp wit about him that could even rival his friend Lawrence, who was honestly the smartest person Matt knew. Joel was involved in a club or two, but mainly spent his free time with his friends, smoking the day away on his patio. Matt was a little envious, wishing he could draw others to him simply by existing. He kind of felt like a void that only pushed other people away. 

(Though with the curve of Joel's lips and the twinkle in his eyes when he talked to Matt, he swore he felt the void begin to slip away.)

Matt decided to tell Joel about his depression. The words just started tumbling out of his mouth, half because he was tired of dancing around any “antics of last semester” and half because Joel was just comfortable to be around. He made Matt feel like spilling his life story, like he would sit and listen and accept. And he did listen intently, finishing off their cigarette and snuffing it against the asphalt.

He stood up, patting the dust off his pants and turning to Matt with a small smile, an understanding glint in his eyes. 

“You're a pretty cool guy, Matt. Text me sometimes.”

They parted ways and Matt didn't even try to look at his homework. He went to sleep with heartburn. Maybe it was from the cigarette, or maybe his medicine was acting up again.

(That night, he dreamt of dark curls and a bright smile directed only at him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm almost halfway done with this monster, so i'm finally putting it up on ao3. my lovely best friend miles sent me this post and was like "peakbin?" and i was like. of fucking course it's peakbin guess who's going to spend the next few months of their life writing this? me.
> 
> currently looking at 7 chapters. might have an epilogue with porn, haven't decided yet.
> 
> the fic is based on this post - http://poemsforpersephone.tumblr.com/post/139069401719  
> crossposted on tumblr - http://ejraptor.tumblr.com/post/139834834984


	2. step two. (there’s something different about the way that he moves,)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter - depression, drugs

> **step 2.** **there’s something different about the way that he moves** **, like the earth is a chessboard and every step is a potential loss, another way to be taken from the game.**

Joel Rubin was different.

Matt personally liked to use the word irritating.

He felt like a teenage girl, completely and utterly smitten with Joel after their talk on the curb. Joel had actually  _ listened _ : they had talked for hours, smoking cigarette after cigarette, sharing story after story. Matt hadn’t laughed like that in what felt like years, hadn’t felt something so concrete in his chest in what felt like an eternity. Even as the fresh air in his lungs was replaced with tobacco, tar tainting them black, he felt hopeful; that the coming months might have something within them akin to a diamond in the rough. 

Conversation with Joel had been  _ easy _ ; words that usually stuck in his throat and choked him flowed out like honey. He hadn’t written off Matt’s depression as “just feeling sad”, or given him sympathies or awkward apologies. Joel had looked him in the eye and  _ understood _ , and treated him the same in all their later conversations. That was leagues more attractive to Matt than anything else about the other boy. Though he’d be lying if he wasn’t struck by his features, his bright eyes and sharp nose, his unruly and wild hair that somehow shined like obsidian. He was visually stunning, his personality more than tying a bow on the total package that was Joel Rubin.

Yeah, he really wasn’t too far off from a teenage girl.

Matt didn’t expect instant friendship or anything, college had taught him that was bullshit. Joel had his own friends, getting into their own brand of trouble Matt didn’t mind but definitely couldn’t handle on a daily basis. Despite not being around each other often, he couldn't help but be drawn in by the other's magnetism; opposites unable to touch, to interact.

So Matt observed.

Joel was deliberate in the way he acted; the way he spoke, the way he dressed, the way he stood and presented himself. Like he was reading from a script, following it to the letter with the world as his stage. Unlike the stoners whom he hung around, whose only goal seemed to be smoking until their brains turned to mush, Joel always seemed to be focused on something off in the distance. As if life was a game of chess, his mind already four moves ahead of whoever his opponent was. 

It felt elaborate, as if Joel actually viewed his life like a stage play. Matt knew this was unlikely, but he couldn’t help but be critical. It was honestly… annoying. Matt didn’t understand him, how he could put on such an intense persona with such little difficulty. He didn’t understand what he had to gain from doing so, why someone would go through the effort.

(Sometimes their eyes would catch from across the room, at a party or on campus. Joel’s are always intense, almost frightening for a moment before going soft as a small smile tugs at his lips. Matt’s blood would run cold, suddenly wondering if he had been the one being observed all along. He would quickly look away, pink tinting his cheeks.)

Now Matt didn't consider himself shy, just a bit more reserved than the average college boy. He liked his space and solitude, using it to sort through a long day's worth of human interaction and constant reminders that he has shit to do. He was only forward when the situation called for it, when business needed to get done, personal or academic. So when it came to hanging out and trying to talk to Joel, well. The other boy definitely didn't make it easy. (It was as if he was back in a simpler time before instant communication, his phone often forgotten in his pocket. It was yet another thing Matt found himself envious of.)

He confronted him about it once, on one of the rare occasions when the two were actually  _ hanging out.  _ In Joel’s room, not with mutual friends or at a party. Matt had been sitting in his computer chair checking his Twitter, swiveling back and forth and moving his knee to the side each time so it wouldn’t hit the desk. Joel was lounging on his bed, ironically enough enraptured by something on his phone. The sleeves of his dress shirt were folded up, top two buttons undone. Matt couldn’t help but stare at the sliver of collarbone and the small but firm muscles of his arms whenever he swiveled back to face him.

He hummed when Matt spoke up, eyes finally leaving his phone and focusing on him. He felt small under the gaze, as if he was one of those opponents Joel felt he should always stay ahead of. (He wasn’t sure where he stood with Joel at all, to be honest.)

He hummed again, putting down his phone and letting his elbow rest on his knee.

“Well, I’m a piece of shit honestly.”

Matt hadn’t expected that.

(Joel might have been a lot more than Matt had expected.)

He gaped at him, eyes wide and showing his confusion. Joel laughed, a small huff that barely made a sound, his eyes darting down toward his bedspread.

“I have your number. I see you all the time. I just. I don’t know why I don’t reach out more.”

They left it at that, turning back to their phones and sitting in silence until the sky turned dark and Matt decided to head home.

He felt weird on the short walk back, his footsteps echoing in the empty parking lot and the wind a low hum around him. His thoughts started to eat at him - why did he ask that, what did Joel mean by what he said, why did he _ask that why_ _did he_ \-  but he managed to get ready for bed, taking his medicine and something to help him sleep. 

The questions eventually slowed down, back to images of the boy’s jet curls and the way he laughs.

Everything started going downhill from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fic is based on this post - http://poemsforpersephone.tumblr.com/post/139069401719  
> crossposted on tumblr - http://ejraptor.tumblr.com/post/140616130519


	3. step three. (you hold violence the same way others hold hands.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for this chapter - depression, drugs, mention of self-harm

> **step 3. you promise protection because it is all you can offer. what else could he want? your fingers were only made to hurt and tear and bruise.** _**you hold violence the same way others hold hands**_ ** _._ **

It had been about two months, the cold January and February slowly making way for a mild spring and stifling summer. The semester was already halfway over with and Matt was already reeling.

He hadn’t gotten worse, necessarily. This was a different kind of struggle; the semester _had_ been ripe with new possibilities. But now, he found himself in a sea of unfamiliarity and uncertainty, only completely and one hundred percent present for it this time. It felt long overdue, like the world was taking back what had been a borrowed period of sanity. He saw his grades start to slip, and he got in trouble for skipping work on the growing number of days he could barely get out of bed. He rarely kept in contact with his few close friends, spending his time in a haze of class, work, and unfulfilling sleep.

He couldn't even begin to explain how he started to deteriorate. He knew things couldn't be that easy for long, that there was no way his body would give him a much deserved break. But it had come out of nowhere, and he was kind of terrified.

It also made him a lot more reckless.

Matt liked to think of himself as unwavering; preferring plans over hasty decisions, trying to remain constantly steady in his views of the world. He knew his mental health was far from the word unwavering, but at least in terms of his personality, he liked to think he was.

But his rare impulsivity finally reared its ugly head when Lawrence, in between bites of his nutritionless lunch, suggested he just tell Joel what he was thinking.

Matt gaped at him, in shock that Lawrence had said that with such ease. Lawrence was also a more cautious type of person, preferring to stay at home on his PC rather than ever throw caution to the wind when it came to a crush. But his face was staunch, eyes looking bored with Matt’s bullshit behind his glasses, all as he focused on munching on his candy bar.

“Honestly, what's the worst that could happen, Matt? Anyway, did you hear about Adam’s party next weekend?”

On his walk back to his apartment, Matt thought of plenty of horrible things that probably _would_ happen, his mind immediately jumping to the most ridiculous and irrational scenarios just because that's how it operated. Mental illness was lovely in that regard; the rational part of his mind perfectly aware that Joel wasn’t going to somehow contact the Mob, sending a dude straight out of The Godfather to shoot him outside his apartment. But he tried to consider it, looking at the big picture. Nothing would really be _that_ bad. Matt would return to a time pre-Joel, which, granted, wasn’t that much different from now. Joel was still doing his own thing: still dressing himself for success, still dealing Gs straight out of his room, and still smoking himself out multiple times a day. He didn’t need Matt for any of that.

The whole situation was just tiring him out, his thoughts constantly drifting to the other boy during all facets of his day. He hardly saw him in person, but he had managed to carve his mark in the back of Matt’s mind in no time at all. Maybe listening to Lawrence and finally spilling his thoughts would relieve him of this bullshit. Matt knew he could be forward, and maybe this situation had finally become one that required he do just that.

He got home just as the sun was going down, tossing his keys and backpack next to his flimsy desk. He checked his clock before peeking out of his window to look for the telltale light coming from Joel’s bedroom. It’s there, just like always. He sucks in a breath, steeling himself as he reached for his phone, forcing his fingers to press send.

> Matt: I need to talk to you about something.
> 
> __Joel: What’s up?_ _

The response was fast. _Too fast_ . It made all of Matt’s bubbling courage sink in his stomach, and his hands shook worse than before. He forced himself to just _do it,_ blanching when it actually sent.

> Matt: I just don't get you.
> 
> __Joel: Excuse me, what?_ _

There was no taking it back anymore. All of his chips were in. Might as well finish what he started, even if he felt like he was going to throw up before it was all over.

> Matt: It's like you're hiding, trying to act one-dimensional around everybody. There's no way that's really you.
> 
> Matt: It's okay to act human sometimes, Joel. And I kind of want to find out who you really are.

Matt's fingers just kept typing, the rational part of his mind struggling to keep up. And when he finally looked up at the string of messages he sent, he threw his phone across his bed, watching it bounce and fall down to the carpet. His hands _shook_ and his mind _screamed_ at him; hypocrite, _hypocrite_ **_hypocrite_**.

Matt couldn’t breathe; intrusive thoughts catching in his throat and leaving him heaving.

(How could he tell someone to act human?)

His chest ached, his head was pounding, everything felt suffocating. Things around him started falling to his floor; the rattle of a pill bottle, the fluttering of pages of one of his books, all ignored as he tried to will away the _pain_.  

(He was the one who had to put on a mask every morning, pretending to smile, pretending everything was _okay_ when it most certainly was not.)

He didn’t feel his nails clawing into the skin of his arm until it started to sting. He ignored the blood getting into his fingernails and onto his bedsheets, curling into himself and willing everything to just stop.

(All he does is hurt. With his fingers, through his words behind a screen. Cut and bruise and _hurt_.)  

If all he does is hurt, then what was the point anymore?

///

Joel held his phone loosely, cautiously, as if it had bruised him. His hand felt heavy, the weight of Matt's words finally sinking in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the fic is based on this post - http://poemsforpersephone.tumblr.com/post/139069401719  
> crossposted on tumblr - http://ejraptor.tumblr.com/post/142390264194


End file.
